Crash and Burn
by Trunks lil' sis
Summary: In his rush of concern for Finn, who appeared non-responsive and certainly injured, Kurt found it easy to overlook the growing chill settling over his own body. It seemed a costly mistake in hindsight.


Title: Crash (and Burn)

Author: Jen

Rating: Teen

Notes: Early season 2, however this story doesn't exactly mesh well with canon. Go figure.

* * *

**Crash (and Burn)**

What Kurt hated the most about football, aside from the homophobic and sexist environment it created, was that the season stretched well into the coldest months of the year, and for Ohio it meant nearly unbearable weather. For Kurt it wouldn't have been such a big deal, nothing that layering and fantastically colorful scarves couldn't take care of, but he was a Cheerio, and where the football team went, the cheerleaders followed. That meant that he and a dozen other girls stood, shaking in their thin uniforms, while spectators wrapped themselves up warmly, and heavily padded players ran back and forth across the field.

Kurt was not a fan of the cold. He didn't like the way the constant snow of the typical Ohioan winter made him seem even paler than he was. In addition, unlike Finn, who was all legs and muscle and bodymass, Kurt was fairly small. He was shorter than his father, and not likely to grow much more, if any. He wasn't particularly broad in the shoulders, and while he couldn't be completely described as petite, as far as boys went, he was on the smaller end. The cold hit him harder, made his toes curl unhappily, and had him counting the moments until he was somewhere warm.

"What a bitch," Santana had ground out hours earlier before the start of the game. Kurt had been of the same sentiment, the moment he'd found out Cheerios were not afforded any extra protection from the cold. "Consider yourselves lucky I don't make you march your pansy asses out there in skirts," Coach Sylvester had barked at them. "You too, Ladyface! Only the strong survive in my Cheerios. Shut your traps or get off my team." There were no extra coats for them, or more than pants for the girls. With the snow dropping lightly down around them, Kurt had understood in that moment, clutching his own already chilled forearms, that being a Cheerio in the winter was either going to make or break him.

Sometimes Kurt really loathed being a Cheerio. Okay, most days, but he couldn't quite let go of the attachment to the attention it gave his singing, or the boost in his popularity, no matter how small it had been. And leaning how to do a backhand summersault had been pretty cool.

"Kurt?"

Elbow resting on the back seat's window, and with his hand cupping the side of his face, he registered Carole's voice from the seat in front of him. But he was still so cold he didn't have the energy to give her a proper response. He could feel his father's eyes on him through the rearview mirror as he drove the makeshift family home, and Kurt skillfully avoided them, shrugging deeper into his father's snow jacket. The heavy fabric smelled like cheap cologne, grease and familiarity, and he'd never been so thankful as the moment the game was over and he was back with his father, the older man slipping the jacket over his shaking son without a word.

"Dude," Finn called out quietly from the seat next to him. He, like Kurt, was still dressed in uniform, but he didn't seem to be suffering any lasting effects from the cold. "Mom wants to know what you want for dinner."

Kurt sniffed a little as his father asked, "You okay?"

"Fine, fine," Kurt assured, leaning back in his seat. "I'll have whatever you want."

"Pizza," Finn breathed out in a needy sounding tone. "Mom, pizza?"

"Essential to any post-loss ritual," Kurt rang in with a half smile. The Titans hadn't won a single game so far that season, and not since Kurt had deserted the team for Cheerios a year previous, but if Finn didn't seem particularly upset, then who was Kurt to care? "Pizza sounds great."

Finn wiggled his eyebrows happily and Kurt bit back a laugh. It had taken some effort, and a lot of practice, but now he couldn't think of Finn as anything but a brother. Finn was the same goofy, often less than intelligent, good natured boy that he'd always been, but Kurt felt more at ease with him now, than ever before. Kurt knew he could trust Finn, he could trust his brother, and the moment their parents turned their engagement into a wedding, Kurt was going to let Finn know.

"It's snowing harder," Burt remarked, turning the windshield wipers up. They were winding around a narrow stretch of road that Kurt drove five days a week. It could be treacherous in the day, but at night, and in poor weather conditions, it was even worse. "And you don't look okay."

It took Kurt a moment to realize this father had directed the last bit at him. "I think I'm going to have a talk with that Coach of yours, Kurt. It's not right to have you and those girls out there freezing like that."

Absently, Kurt remarked, "Some girl's parents tried to bring Coach Sylvester up on child endangerment charges last year. She counter-sued them and they lost their house."

Burt waved a hand. "You don't do good with the cold."

Kurt gave a kind look to his father. "I think she's just trying to toughen us up. We've got an exhibition in a month. As defending National Champions we're required to be there and perform."

Turning halfway in her seat, Carole shook her head. "There is a fine line between challenging her students, and harming them. Maybe I need to have a talk with her as well. Kurt, you do not look fine, and don't think I haven't heard you sniffling back there. You sound like you're going to be sick before the night is out. I want to take your temperature when we get home."

Less than a foot away, Finn shot Kurt a wide eyed warning look. Disengage, the look clearly warned. It had been a long while since Kurt had been under the watchful gaze of a mother. His father had done a more than admirable job, but mothers were different, Kurt knew, and apparently so did Finn.

"And don't think I can't see you, Finn," she added for good measure. "I'll take your temperature as well."

"Mom," Finn whined out. "I'm great. I actually like the cold. Plus, I'm still hot from the game. I'm not going to get sick."

At the back of his throat, Kurt felt a tickle, and he hated to admit it, but it seemed as if Carole could be right. Kurt had never been a sickly child, but he had caught colds often enough through the winter on a normal basis, and it looked to be that he'd be missing school the following Monday.

"How about we stop by a pizza joint, pick something up and go home?" Burt suggested, glancing over at Carole. "Sound good?"

Kurt gave a sudden sneeze that rattled his entire body.

Burt seemed concerned, his eyes crinkling, but Carole raised a knowing eyebrow.

"Sorry," Kurt said, his nose rubbing along the collar of his father's jacket. He'd have it dry cleaned before returning it.

"I thought so," Carole remarked.

Quietly, Finn whispered to Kurt, "Did you see Quinn? I think her lips were actually blue. Sylvester is a monster. I'll take Beiste any day over Sylvester. At least my coach actually cares if we freeze to death."

Kurt nodded in agreement. "I think Sylvester ended up disappointed none of the Cheerios died, or at the very least that none of them had to be hospitalized."

Finn smothered a laugh and Kurt blinked oddly as bright lights lit up his friend's face and then there was nothing but darkness. His stomach leapt up into his chest, his heart stuttered and everything exploded in his mind. There was buzzing, whining and the sound of crunching. He registered a blast of cold air, a sting on his face, and then white hot pain racing through his body.

Everything was silent. And Kurt couldn't think. He couldn't focus. He wasn't sure he could do anything but drag in ragged breathes of freezing cold air and try and unclench his eyes.

His first thought, after managing to open his eyes, was that he was blind. There was so much darkness, and he took a large gasp of air, feeling panicky and borderline terrified.

Then he heard a groan, and his father's voice called out, "Kurt?"

It took a moment for Kurt's eyes to adjust and he realized he wasn't blind, it was just very dark.

"Dad?" he hated the way his voice sounded so small, and so high pitched. He'd always despised the way his voice had never dropped to the degree that the rest of the boy his age had experienced. His father had never made a big fuss about it, and Kurt knew it was the ultimately the reason he could be classified as a Soprano, but it did make him stand out. "What?"

There was an odd force pressing into his right side and Kurt frowned in confusion. His feet were sliding down to the right, and his shoulder was uncomfortably wedged up on the door. The position didn't make any sense to him, not that much did.

"Kurt!"

Kurt snapped back to attention, recognizing the tilt for what it was. He remarked to his father, "We're in a ditch."

From the front of the car his father shifted restlessly and demanded, "Are you okay?"

A Kurt of six months ago might have feel a rush of joy at being his father's first concern. Six months ago Kurt had been fighting overwhelming feelings of jealousy, taking his own frustrations out on Finn and his family. But he'd like to think he'd grown and matured. He was past his jealously, and above the idea of his father having a new favorite son.

"No," Kurt choked out. "I mean, I'll live." But really, he wasn't okay. The pain in his body was consuming and he wasn't sure where it started or ended. He could nearly feel the throbbing of his blood as it was pumped by his heart, and there was a dull pounding in Kurt's head that was steadily growing worse. Everything was manageable when he sat still, but moving was out of the question, and he just let himself slump against the door.

"Carole?" Burt asked, reaching past the airbag to put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she said, breathy like she couldn't manage anything more. "Finn?"

The eerily telling silence that followed as Kurt braving the pain to grope for the boy who'd be his brother by the end of the year. It was excruciatingly difficult to lift his arm, but he could hear Carole becoming hysterical, and his father was fighting against the airbag and his seatbelt in an attempt to get out of his seat and back to them. They were about to loose control of the situation and Kurt worried for what it meant.

"Finn," Kurt gasped out, wondering why it was so hard to breathe all of the sudden. His fingers met with the mesh of Finn's uniform. "Finn, are you okay?"

From the front seat Carole nearly sobbed, "Finn, baby, answer me."

Sometimes it was hard for Kurt to imagine Finn as anything but a teenager. He was large for his age, a natural born leader, and probably one of the most capable guys Kurt knew. But he could hear it in Carole's voice, the way she still thought of Finn as her baby, and probably pictured him as the newborn she'd brought home from the hospital seventeen years ago. It was the same tone he'd heard with his father an hour earlier when the man had wrapped Kurt up in his jacket, rubbed his arms and told how well he'd cheered.

It seemed like an eternity before Kurt felt Finn shudder, and then the taller boy was moving, groaning painfully and clutching at his head. Kurt could just make out Finn in the darkness as he said, "I feel like someone just squeezed my head off."

"We crashed," Burt said, wrangling his seatbelt away from his body finally. "The visibility, and there was a deer, and the roads are slick." He was rambling a bit, but under the circumstances no one said anything.

"Tell me if you're hurt," Carole demanded.

Finn rubbed at his head and Kurt could see him jerk back fingers. "I'm wet."

Well, Kurt wanted to remark, it was snowing into the car. The front windshield had remained intact, if not cracked, and Burt's was more or less in one piece, but both of the back window's had blown out and Carole's. It was then that Kurt noticed how truly frigid the car was. Before the crash the heater had been running high and hard, barely enough to keep Kurt comfortable. But now … Kurt tried to keep his mouth shut. There were bigger issues to deal with.

"My head really hurts," Finn said, sounding dazed. "Kind of like when Rachel tries to give us a lecture, but a million times worse. I think I'm bleeding."

"Can you find your phone?" Carole demanded at Burt, then she turned back to Finn. "Finn, honey, are there any towels back there from your game? Or anything at all? I need you to put pressure against where you think your head is bleeding. Head wounds bleed a lot, and you have to get a handle on it. I can't get back there right now."

"Cracked," Burt said, all but slamming his phone down.

Kurt had to tip his head back in that moment, breathe through his mouth and try and not panic. His fingers were cold, his nose was cold, and his toes were cold, but there was a pulsing of warmth in his abdomen that was contradicting in a nauseating way. He brought a hand up to his side and felt the warmth.

"Kurt?"

He was wet too, Kurt realized. Maybe the snow blowing into the car had already started to melt. Kurt felt like an icicle, but it was possible.

"Kurt, stay with me!"

Kurt took a particularly deep breath, his chest hitching and then he was coughing. "Dad?"

"I thought you said you were fine," his father said a bit frantically, reaching back for him. The heavy hand on Kurt's knee was enough to convince him that even in the current situation, freezing, and in pain, his father could make everything right.

"I am," Kurt insisted. "Just really cold."

"Windy," Finn remarked next to him. "Really windy. Can we roll up the window?"

Carole made a desperate noise and Burt said to his son, "Carole's legs are trapped, she can't get out, and we think Finn hit his head pretty hard. We need to call an ambulance and my phone is cracked. Where's yours?"

Finn was the one with the concussion. Finn had hit his head, not Kurt, and yet Kurt couldn't get his thoughts together. He couldn't process his father's words fast enough, and his response was dormant on his tongue for what seemed like an eternity before he managed. "Coach Sylvester. She has it. She takes all the Cheerio's phones away before any performance. We get them back the next day, if we didn't suck."

Burt sighed. "Then I need you to find Finn's. I'm going to see if I can get out. I think the door is stuck, or wedged. Something."

"Finn," Kurt asked, trying to get the boy to focus on him. "Is your phone in your bag?"

Finn gave him a loopy smile and began to hum Lady GaGa's Telephone. Kurt was not amused. Even more, Kurt was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to reach as far down as Finn's bag probably was, if it hadn't been thrown from the car. Kurt noted a distinct lack of pressure near his feet indicating his own bag.

Kurt pressed a hand tighter against his side. It was throbbing and so hot, but he was so cold.

"Can you get it?" Burt asked in Kurt's direction. He was throwing his weight against his door, trying to pop it open. But they'd rolled, after swerving, and even if they'd landed right side up and in a ditch, they'd still rolled and compromised the frame of the SUV.

A light broke into the cab of the vehicle in that moment, illuminating everything and Kurt glanced down at his uniform, at the red that seemed so dark and dull. He couldn't see any water or wetness. Then he pulled his hand away and remarked, "I'm loosing my mind." Maybe he had hit his head, because he was pretty sure colors didn't bleed, at least not with clothing of the quality the Cheerio's uniforms were made out of.

Kurt wiped his hand across his stomach in odd curiosity.

"I see someone!" Carole called out, "I think they saw us when they passed!"

"Kurt?"

It was Finn, and Kurt looked over at him with a delay. In an unexpected move Finn pressed his hand too roughly against Kurt, and in an instant response Kurt arched up in pain, breathless and confused.

"Kurt!" In less than a second Burt was over center consul and in the backseat, demanding, "What's wrong? Kurt!"

Kurt latched onto his father's forearm, his fingers slipping over the skin as the pain refused to dull. "Dad," he gasped out. "I can't-"

"Everyone okay in here?" A man was draped halfway in the car, his eyes wide. "I called for help already. Is anyone hurt?"

"My son," Carole said right away. "We think he hit his head."

"I'm wet," Kurt mumbled, feeling himself start to fade in and out. "Dad, I'm wet and my uniform is ... it's ..."

Kurt could feel his father shaking, and he meant to ask why, but then he was wincing as his father was shouting at the stranger, and Kurt couldn't understand. But it didn't matter after that because his father was forcibly pushing him back against the seat and a ripple of pain passed through Kurt so heavy that he was certain he was going to pass out from it . He couldn't breathe and he had never felt anything so bad in his life.

"-have to listen to me, Kurt. You're bleeding. Christ … you're bleeding so bad. Why didn't you say anything?"

There were more people surrounding the car, Kurt realized dully. They were trying to pry Carole's door open, and they were already helping Finn out. There were no flashing red lights, or men in uniform, so help hadn't' arrived in the form of more than worried bystanders.

"I'm just wet," Kurt tried to argue, his fingers falling from his father's forearm. "Just wet. Like Finn."

Kurt felt his father's chin brush the side of his head and he was being hugged, held tight and still as his father continued to put pressure on his side.

"You're not just wet," Burt argued. "You're bleeding, Kurt. You're … god, there's so much blood."

The next time Kurt looked down at his uniform he realized the red was dulled because of the much darker color of his blood. His father was right, and the red had begun to seep into the white. In addition, the interior of the car was absolutely ruined. In the dark he had been unable to tell, but now there were more people, some with flashlights, and Kurt was beginning to see the real extent of the spread.

"I .. dad …" Kurt felt himself start to gasp for air. His fingers were red, blood caked under his nails, and he'd spread the stains to his father's arm, and his father's clothes, and he could imagine Finn was stained too from where Kurt had grabbed at him earlier.

"The car," Burt tried to explain, "on your side, Kurt. It's bent in. It's … it's in you."

"Oh," Kurt said, because that explained the pressure, and the reason he couldn't move. "I'm sorry."

"No, Kurt," Burt said, sounding so broken, "It's not your fault. And don't you worry, you're going to be okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. The ambulance is on the way and they're going to take great care of you. I'll be with you the entire time."

Kurt could see Carole wrenched from the car through half lidded eyes. He was so sleepy as he mumbled, "My uniform. Coach is going to kill me."

His father's fingers brushed across his forehead tenderly. "I've got you, Kurt. I've got you."

To be honest, Kurt couldn't remember much more. His father never left his side, he knew that much, and there was more pain when the paramedics arrived, but they also whisked him away to a hospital with the best painkillers. It was a fair tradeoff in Kurt's book, at least as long as his father remained by his side, holding is hand, promising to never leave him.

It was two days before he was coherent enough to do more than smile stupidly at his father and mumble about the latest collection of Vera Wang handbags. "They're completely gender neutral," he'd insisted, flying high on pain relievers, "and I have the most perfect Diane Von Furstenburg knit to compliment the line with."

When he did end up lucid enough to sit up in bed gingerly, and take visitors, it was Finn, surprisingly enough, to came around first, with both Burt and Carole lurking in the background and talking in quiet tones to each other.

"Hey," Finn offered. There was slight bruising on the side of his face, and Kurt could see white gauze still peeking out from under Finn's hairline. But he looked better than he had been in the car, and Kurt was relieved. "You okay?"

Kurt arched an eyebrow and set aside the magazine he'd been leafing through while his father took care of shop business. "They removed my spleen," Kurt told him. "I almost lost my kidney, too. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to get back in my Cheerio's uniform for a while, that's if Coach Sylvester doesn't castrate me for ruining it."

"My mom told me it was bad," Finn said a bit uncomfortably, hands in his pockets. "They wouldn't let anyone but your dad see you as soon as you had your surgery. I think Mercedes is convinced I was just holding out on her. She said she's coming by later today and most of Glee club, probably."

"Good," Kurt said in a relieved tone. "I think I'm loosing my mind. I love my dad, really, he's the most important person in the world to me, but we don't exactly have a lot to talk about."

Finn cracked a smile. "I guess not. So, when are they letting you out?"

Kurt gave a shrug. "A couple of days. But then I have to stay home for a while."

With a half nod from Finn, an awkward silence fell between them. Kurt offered quietly, "You don't have to stay. You've fulfilled your brotherly obligation to me. You know I'm in one piece now. You can report back to the troops and get back to sucking face with Rachel."

Finn looked offended, and even a bit hurt. "Kurt," he said, then stopped.

"It's just," Kurt tried, "you look like you'd rather be anywhere else in the world."

It was a shock to Kurt when he felt Finn's long fingers close around his own and squeeze firmly. Finn admitted, "I thought you were going to die. I mean, I don't really remember a lot, I took a big knock to the head, but there was a lot of blood. And people were yelling at each other, your dad was yelling, and my mom was yelling and you wouldn't wake up." Finn took a deep breath and reiterated, "I thought you were going to die."

Kurt squeezed back at Finn's hand. "For a minute there, right after we first crashed, I thought you were dead, too."

"Boys?"

Carole made her way to Kurt's hospital bed, dragging Burt by the hand. "We're going to go down to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee. Will you be okay by yourselves?"

"Of course," Finn answered confidently, and Kurt reassured her with a nod.

When their parents were gone, Finn sank further into the chair next to Kurt's bed and exclaimed, "I think we shouldn't do this anymore."

Kurt blinked oddly at him. "Do what?"

"Scare each other." Finn had yet to relinquish his grasp on Kurt's fingers. "Because we may not have had the best start, and I know we did a lot of things to each other that were annoying and out of line, but we're going to be family." Finn shook his head and corrected. "We are family. You're my brother, Kurt, and we shouldn't do this anymore."

Finn had lost his father, and Kurt had lost his mother, and he was sure on some level, an unspoken one, they both understood that there could be no room for additional loss in their lives.

"Okay," Kurt said simply.

"Good," Finn smiled. "Because this kind of experience bonds guys, and we don't need to do it more than once. I am all bonded out now."

Kurt only laughed in agreement and squeezed Finn's hand once more.


End file.
